


A Floral Apology

by toboe_whisker



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Doctor Russia, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Human AU, M/M, Middle School Teacher America, Trigger Warning: Racial Slurs, medical scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28745895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toboe_whisker/pseuds/toboe_whisker
Summary: Alfred and Ivan are aching for a moment to themselves, and a date is a perfect way to do it. But going on a date is easier said than done. With Ivan working as a resident at a local hospital, he hardly has time to spare, and Alfred is left wondering if their relationship is going to work.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia), RusAme (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	A Floral Apology

**Author's Note:**

> Written for RusAme Secret Santa 2020 run by Spring-Has-Come. I was Vokanburgers' secret Santa.
> 
> Prompt: Ivan accidentally misses a date with Alfred because of work, but he makes it up to him by showing up at his house with flowers and a kiss. 
> 
> I made a few small tweaks to the prompt, but I really hope you like it!~

The vinyl siding on the house creaks against the force of the winter’s wind. Branches join in, tapping on the bedroom windows with enthusiasm. Snoring can also be heard coming from one of the two sleeping figures in bed under the duvet. Above the chorus, a light clicking echoes down the hall. This sound, in particular, gets louder as the source approaches the bedroom. 

A large shadow stretches across the bedroom carpet as the creature stood in front of the nightlight in the hallway. The creature and its shadow wiggles before it launches itself at the bed. 

The snoring abruptly stops. One of the formerly sleeping figures releases a soft, confused hum, “Mmm…” 

Claws catch the duvet as the person who is now awake, Alfred, rolls over to face the creature on the bed. He squints through the dark as his right hand gropes the nightstand for his glasses. Once secured, he slides them onto his face. The blurry creature on the bed gradually comes into focus and Alfred’s racing heart slows. 

“French Fry?” He asks, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

The cat blinks owlishly at him from his perch on Alfred’s abdomen. 

“Whaddya want, bud?” Alfred whispers, trying to be careful not to wake his sleeping fiancé. 

French Fry turns his blue eyes to the floor, where a plastic bowl—his food bowl—is lying face down on the carpet. 

“It’s not food time,” Alfred answers. He reaches out to give the cat an apologetic chin scratch. 

French Fry doesn’t seem to like that answer as he takes a few steps closer to Alfred’s face so that the bulk of the cat’s weight rests on Alfred’s ribcage. 

Alfred lets the cat sit there while he takes his glasses back off, but not a second longer. French Fry isn’t a small cat; in fact, the veterinarian had put him on diet during their last visit. She said that he could stand to lose some extra body fat. French Fry disagreed. 

He releases a mew of complaint as Alfred places him back on the floor. French Fry sighs then looks over at his still empty bowl. He strides over to the bowl, flips it over, and defiantly begins scratching the bottom. 

Alfred tries to tune out the noise at first, but that only encourages French Fry to scratch harder. Defeated, it’s Alfred’s turn to sigh as he carefully slides out of bed, glasses in hand. He might as well get a drink while he’s up since his mouth is dry. Alfred takes the bowl from French Fry, and together, they make their way downstairs to the kitchen. 

In the kitchen, Alfred puts the cat food bowl back on the rubber placemat where it belongs. French Fry rushes to the bowl. The cat’s disappointment doesn’t go unnoticed, and Alfred crosses the kitchen to a drawer designated for cat stuff. A catnip-stuffed fabric square that Alfred and his partner call a ‘ravioli’ is tossed onto the floor in front of French Fry. The cat immediately locks his front paws around the ravioli and sinks to the floor. French Fry excitedly licks at the toy, finally satisfied. 

Alfred closes the drawer and shuffles over to a cabinet where he removes a glass. Bleary-eyed, he opens the freezer and drops a few cubes of ice inside his glass. Alfred early jumps out of his skin when he closes the freezer to find not one, but two, cats staring at him from the floor. 

“Shit!” Alfred cursed, almost dropping the cup from his hand. 

His free hand clutching his chest, Alfred exclaims, “Jeez, we’ve got to get you a bell.”

The second cat, Mila, leaves the room with a huff, no longer interested now that she knows it was Alfred in the kitchen. Alfred shakes his head as he leans on the sink. He stares out the kitchen window into the backyard while sipping on his water. 

The wind howls as it beats against the house. Alfred purses his lips. A snowstorm is in the forecast, set to strike the following night. But with winds like these, it is possible that the storm would arrive sooner. 

Alfred hopes that that’s wrong. He has a dinner date with Ivan. They hadn’t spent quality time together in what felt like ages. Ever since Ivan had started his medical residency at the local hospital, he was hardly around, and when Ivan was at home, he was exhausted from working eighty-plus hours a week. This date had been on the calendar for months. Not because it had been planned that far ahead, but because that’s how many times it had been postponed. 

They need this date.

***

“Don’t forget about our date tonight, Vanya. We have a reservation at Antonio’s Bistro.” 

Ivan smiles at the text message from his fiancé. He starts to type an answer to Alfred when he is interrupted. 

“Bragnisky, you have a new patient in bed twelve.” 

Ivan glances up from his phone. He stifles a sigh. He is incredibly behind on paperwork and the constant interruptions aren’t helping. He’d been on his feet since five in the morning and it is nearly fourteen-hundred now. 

“Thank you, Elizabeta.” Ivan directs a fake smile at her as he stands up from his desk chair at the nurses’ station. He takes a quick sip of his coffee before making his way down the hall to the aforementioned room. Outside the exam room, Ludwig, the stern, always-serious perfectionist attending physician is waiting. One of Ludwig’s black work shoes is tapping against the tile floor, making Ivan nervous. 

Whenever Ivan is with a patient, Ludwig is always there, watching him like a hawk and keeping tabs on his every move. The past two and a half years had been hell working with Ludwig. The attending physician seems to criticize everything that Ivan does, from the way he dresses wounds to how he inserts butterfly needles for intravenous therapy. 

“Dr. Beilschmidt,” Ivan acknowledges the man. 

Ludwig doesn’t say anything. He just hands Ivan the folder carrying the new patient’s information. Ivan’s cracks open the bright green folder. Ivan’s heather eyes skim over the information before he draws back the privacy curtain to enter the room. Ivan has to mentally remind himself to glance up from the folder to introduce himself, so Ludwig doesn’t berate him for that later. 

“Good afternoon, my name is Dr. Braginsky. I’ll be taking care of you today. And this is Dr. Beilschmidt, he’s my attending physician. Dr. Beilschmidt will just be observing,” Ivan explains, giving a quick gesture towards Ludwig when he introduced the other man. 

“What brings you into the emergency room, today, Miss—” Ivan risks a look at the chart “—Lili?” 

Lili Zwingli. The patient is a young girl that can’t be more than fourteen. Lili has straight, chin-length blond hair and green eyes. A blue ribbon is tied into her hair on the right side. 

“I cut my finger while I was preparing dinner for tomorrow, but I cut my hand. It’s honestly not that bad though…” Lili tells him while clutching the injured hand to her chest. 

“When did this happen?” Ivan asks while pulling a pair of gloves from the caddy on the wall. 

“About an hour ago, but really I don’t think all this fuss is necessary—” 

“—It  _ is _ necessary.” Lili is cut off by a man Ivan hadn’t noticed who was sitting in the corner of the room. 

Ivan assumes that the man is Lili’s brother, given that they look almost identical. Save for the blue ribbon, and that the man looks much more stern than Lili with his face set in an intense scowl. 

Ivan crosses the room to offer his hand to the man. “I apologize. I didn’t see you there, sir.”

The man can’t be older than twenty, but he’s brave enough to fix Ivan with a glare. “Vash Zwingli. I’m her older brother.” 

“Nice to meet you.” 

Vash rolls his eyes and Ivan steps away to avoid confrontation. He can feel Ludwig’s gaze burning holes into his back. 

“Okay. Lili, I need to do a physical examination of the injury. Do you mind if I take a look at your hand?” Ivan asks, pulling on the pair of gloves. 

Lili shifts on the bed, becoming sheepish. She looks over at Vash, who gives her a subtle nod. She visibly relaxes and extends her hand to Ivan. 

He gently unwraps the dish towel that was coiled around her hand. A deep laceration stretches from the base of Lili’s index finger to the opposite end of her palm. It isn’t bleeding, but it’s certainly long enough to require medical attention beyond antibiotic ointment and a simple bandaid. 

“By the looks of this cut, your brother was right to bring you in. Your hand needs stitches,” Ivan concludes, releasing Lili’s hand and pulling off his gloves. 

Lili fidgets on the bed again, worrying her lip. 

“Sit tight for a minute while I retrieve the necessary supplies. I’ll be back shortly,” Ivan advises, straightening. He tosses his gloves into a nearby bin and exits the room, drawing the privacy curtain back into position. 

***

Despite how many times that this dinner date had been postponed, Alfred still can’t help but feel excited about it. When Alfred arrives home from work, he lays his students’ work on the dining room table and quickly goes upstairs to change. 

Alfred strides down the hallway and into the master bedroom with French Fry hot on his heels. French Fry meows and squeaks and carries on like he does every day. Alfred reaches down to ruffle the tom cat’s fur when he jumps up onto the bed. French Fry releases a happy mew and settles down into a chunky loaf. 

“Good boy. Dinner’s in a little bit, buddy,” Alfred laughs, turning instead to the closet. 

Shedding his trench coat, Alfred discards it on a hook. Tugging off his gray sweater, he replaces it with a pale blue button-up, which he tucks into his khakis. Alfred selects a sweater vest from the closet that’s a darker blue than his shirt and pulls it on over the button-up. 

Alfred goes to the master bathroom next. He checks himself out the mirror there. Unsatisfied with how unkempt his hair looked from a day's work at the local elementary school. Alfred runs a comb through his hair a few times, disregarding the curved cowlick in the front that never went away. 

Once he is pleased with his appearance, Alfred goes back downstairs and into the kitchen. Alfred picks up the two cat bowls that are placed at opposite sides of the kitchen and sits them on the counter to be filled. Selecting a can of cat food from the pantry, he cracks it open and spoons out half a daily serving for each cat. 

Thudding echoes throughout the house as French Fry jumps down the stairs and skids into the kitchen. Alfred has to laugh at his cat’s dramatic entrance. Still, French Fry always got fed last because he ate fast enough to steal Mila’s food. Not that she would let him because the last time French Fry had tried, he’d ended up with a scar on his muzzle. 

Mila sits by her lavender-colored placemat, the tip of her tail flicking with impatience until Alfred places her bowl down. While Mila carefully selects which bits of her meal she wants to eat, French Fry scarfs his down before Alfred can even finish pulling on his favorite brown, leather bomber jacket. 

Alfred doesn’t wait for French Fry to beg him for seconds as he slips out the front door. He climbs into his car and drives to the next town over where the restaurant that both Ivan and Alfred favor is located. Grinning, Alfred goes inside and approaches the hostess. 

The hostess has long, dark brown hair tied into pigtails and tan skin. “Good evening. How may I help you today, sir?” 

“I have a reservation for two. It should be listed under Alfred Jones,” Alfred replies with a polite smile. 

The hostess checks the reservation booklet then looks at the tabling chart. “Ah,” she exclaims excitedly when she finds Alfred’s name, “We have you seated at seventeen by the window that overlooks the bay. Is that correct?” 

Alfred nods, “Yep. That’s it.” 

The hostess waves over a waiter, who excitedly leads Alfred to the table. The waiter is a young man close to Alfred’s age with bright auburn hair and amber eyes. Alfred has to smile at the curl of hair that bounces about on the left side of the waiter’s head. It reminds him of his own pesky cowlick. The waiter introduces himself as Feliciano. 

Feliciano happily explains the evening’s menu to him while rocking back and forth on his heels. He pours ice water into a wine glass and rests it on the table in front of Alfred before leaving him to tend to another table. 

Alfred tepidly sips the ice water while he waits for the arrival of his fiancé, who should be arriving at the restaurant any minute. 

***

Ivan glances at the watch on his wrist. It’s half past sixteen-hundred, and his shift ends at the top of the next hour. However, leaving work at five is looking less and less likely as the minutes pass by. He’s currently waiting on test results for three patients and tending to eight patients. Not to mention that he’s swamped with paperwork. Lili and Vash were discharged from the emergency room more than two hours ago, and Ivan’s just now getting around to finishing Lili’s paperwork and charting. 

Ivan pauses to tiredly rub his eyes. If he was exhausted earlier, he’s running on fumes now. Everything is beginning to blur together. He reaches for his mug and tips it towards him to inspect it.  _ Empty _ . He needs caffeine, but he’s already drained three large cups of black tea. 

“Excuse me, young man.” 

Ivan’s head snaps up to see no one standing in front of the nurses’ station. He goes back to his work for only a moment when he feels a light tap on his arm. Ivan turns to see a tiny, spindly older man squinting at him through glasses thicker than Ivan’s laptop screen. An apron hung on the man’s thin shoulders that had Zhang Wei embroidered on it. 

“Can you show me where the whatchamacallit is? That fancy soda, snack box?” The man spoke with an incredibly thick Mandarin accent that Ivan could barely pick through.

“Uh… The vending machine, sir?” 

The man nodded. 

“Go straight down this hallway and follow the first left. It’ll be tucked away in a small alcove with a few chairs,” Ivan explains, speaking slowly in an attempt to reduce his Russian accent. 

“Thank you, young man.” The elderly gentleman smiles at Ivan and he can't resist smiling back. 

“Braginsky, you have another new patient. Bed three.” 

It’s his ninth patient of the hour and Ivan’s not sure how’s even keeping the other eight straight. If he was more dramatic like his fiancé, Ivan would’ve face-planted into his desk. Instead, Ivan opts to stifle a heavy sigh and stands up on aching feet. 

He takes the folder from Elizabeta and shuffles up the hall, skimming over the file as he goes: Ebenezer Carran, male, 73, sudden onset of pain and stiffness in hips and shoulders. Ivan’s train of thought is stopped by shouting. Ivan is jolted from his drowsy stupor. He quickens his pace when he realizes that the commotion is coming from the room of his new patient. 

Once again, Ludwig is standing outside speaking to a nurse, making Ivan wonder if the man has anything better to do. When Ludwig notices Ivan’s approach, he breaks off from his conversation. The man gestures for Ivan to follow him a little bit away, so the patient is out of earshot. 

With a lowered voice, Ludwig says, “Have you ever handled a patient conflict before?” 

“Once or twice,” Ivan answers. 

“ _ Gut.  _ Show me.” 

Ivan's breath catches in his throat. Patient conflicts can lead to several things and are often one of the most dangerous things that a doctor has to handle. Ivan would much rather perform a risky procedure than deal with a confrontational patient. Failure to respond properly could disrupt treatment or even lead to physical harm. 

Ivan returns to the room and tries to remind himself of everything that he’s been taught. With a deep breath, he draws open the privacy curtain. 

There are three people in the room. One, a small child with tears running down her face, looks to Ivan the moment he enters. The other two are too caught up in their argument to notice the presence of Ivan and Ludwig. 

“For fuck’s sake dad, you’re seventy-three years old! You probably broke a fucking hip! Wait for the doctor to take a look at you!” A young woman barks at an elderly gentleman as he struggles to lower the safety railings on the stretcher. 

“Watch your language! I know how to take care of myself just fine! All I need is some ice and alcohol. ‘Sides, it’s just a little arthritis, ya ninny,” the elderly gentleman, whom Ivan assumes is Ebenezer, shouts back. 

Ivan clears his throat, “Good evening, everyone.”

If looks could kill, Ivan would certainly be dead on the spot. Silence fills the room as Ebenezer and his daughter turn to look at Ivan.

“My name is Dr. Braginsky. And this is Dr. Beilschmidt. I’ll be taking care of you this evening. And Dr. Beilschmidt will be observing,” Ivan explains while trying to make his smile appear like it isn’t forced. 

“Great, he’s fucking commie.” 

“Dad!”

Ivan doesn’t miss the daughter’s eyebrows raising and he’s certain that his own do, too. He reminds himself not to take Ebenezer’s words to heart before he responds. 

“What seems to be the problem today?” Ivan asks while maintaining eye contact and distance. 

“You mean besides the three-hour wait?” Ebenezer remarks with a scowl. 

“Yes, I apologize for that. We’re trying to attend to patients as quickly as we can, sir,” Ivan admitted. 

Ebenezer scoffs.

“Can you tell me what happened that brought you into the emergency room, Ebenezer?” Ivan continues. “It says on your chart that you’re experiencing pain in your shoulders and hips. Did you fall recently?”

“Don’t talk to me like you know me, Russian. It’s Mister Carran to you,” Ebenezer rebukes him sharply. 

Even though it’s hospital policy to address patients by their first name, Ivan figures he can make a concession if it means he can de-escalate the situation enough to examine the man. 

“I apologize, Mister Carran.”

After a brief pause, Ivan decides to try again, “Now, Mister Carran, do you mind explaining to me what happened and how long ago the pain began?”

Mister Carran refuses to look at him. Thankfully, his daughter answers for him, “Dad’s been wearing the same clothes for three days now. He picks at his food, he’s limping, and he can barely lift his arms. He hasn’t fallen as far as I’m aware.”

“Okay,” Ivan nods and jots the information down on the paper chart in his hand, which he will transfer to his computer later. 

“I’m glad that you came in, Mister Carran. The sudden onset of pain and stiffness in the shoulders can be quite serious for adults your age,” Ivan replies, flipping the chart closed.

He lays the chart down on a nearby table and retrieves a pair of gloves. “May I take a look at you, sir?” 

“Do your worst,” Mister Carran locks eyes with Ivan, his chin lifted in defiance.

Ivan purses his lips and sucks in a breath. Approaching Ebenezer’s bedside, Ivan is grateful that the man is already in a hospital gown so he doesn’t have to have that debate as well. He lowers the safety railing on the left side with a click. 

“Were you given anything for pain? Or have you taken anything for pain recently?” Ivan remembers to ask before he begins examining the injury. 

Again, Mister Carran’s daughter answers for him, “A nurse came by and gave him some ibuprofen a little bit ago, but he takes a daily dose of aspirin to help prevent a heart attack.”

Ivan furrows his brows, concerned, “That wasn’t in the chart. Is there a history of heart attacks or strokes?”

“Heart attack. Ten years ago,” Mister Carran grounds out.

Ivan nods, adding that to the chart as well before pulling on the pair of gloves. 

The examination takes much longer than it normally would. Despite Ivan being as delicate as he can, Mister Carran complains every step of the way. He doesn’t let Ivan adjust his clothing, his daughter has to step in to do it, which is when Ivan learns that the daughter is an RN at a nursing home. 

Ivan couldn’t be more grateful when the physical examination is over. He tosses his gloves into a nearby bin, barely suppressing a sigh of relief. 

“Alright. There is definitely inflammation around both shoulders and hips, especially on the left side. I’ll need to order some blood tests to check inflammation levels and I’d like an ultrasound performed as well,” Ivan explains. 

He waits for Mister Carran to cut him off or dispute his conclusion but he doesn’t. Ivan couldn’t be more grateful. 

“Someone will be in to take some blood samples and take you for an ultrasound. There may be a bit of wait, but I’ll try to get someone in here quickly,” Ivan promises before walking out of the room with Ludwig close behind him. 

“Not bad,” Ludwig says, then walks away.

It’s as good as Ivan is going to get from the man. 

Ivan returns to his computer. The heaviness comes back to his limbs the moment he sits back down. Ivan releases a breath he didn't know he had been holding before he submits the orders for various blood tests and an ultrasound of Mister Carran’s shoulders and hips. Only then does Ivan happen to look at his watch. It’s practically eighteen-hundred. His shift ended an hour ago. 

***

Alfred is often told that he can be impatient, so he struggles to avoid looking at his phone every couple of minutes. At first, he’s able to sit at the table and stare out at the bay. Alfred doesn’t hold out long though, the coming and going of the waves can only be so entertaining when you see the same thing practically every day. Alfred begins tapping his fingers on the table, starting to wish that he’d bought along some of his paperwork or his laptop to pass the time with work. 

Finally, Alfred pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket. He turns on the lock screen and checks the time. His heart sinks when he realizes that he’s been at the restaurant—alone—for just shy of an hour. Alfred slowly releases a breath. He tells himself that Ivan probably just got caught up at work and that he’s on his way right now. 

Alfred doesn’t notice that the waiter has returned until the man clears his throat. 

“ _ Mi scusi, signore. _ I brought you some warm bread while you wait.” 

Alfred looks up at the waiter, hoping he doesn’t look too pitiful. “Thanks.” 

He accepts the offering with a smile, suddenly aware of how hungry he is. Alfred scarfs down a piece of bread and slathers the second in butter before devouring that one as well. The bread warms his stomach and makes him feel better about his situation for a while. 

Alfred plays some games on his phone and answers a few emails before the waiter comes around again. 

“Is everything alright,  _ signore _ ?” 

“Hmm?” Alfred is roused from his thoughts. “Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine, Feliciano. Just waiting for my date to arrive.”

Feliciano smiles a sympathetic smile at him. “I’m sure they’ll be here any minute.” 

“I hope so. He’s usually a stickler for punctuality,” Alfred responds, his voice more reserved than it normally is. 

“My husband is the same way,” Feliciano nods, before adding, “He works at the hospital in the… the room…” 

Feliciano falls quiet for a moment, muttering to himself rapidly Italian. 

“The room?” Alfred repeats, a little confused. 

“Ah!” Feliciano suddenly exclaims. “ _ Al pronto soccorso!”  _

Alfred tilts his head to the side, “Huh?” 

“The emergency room. My husband works in the emergency room.” 

Alfred’s face lights up. “Really? My fiancé works at the hospital, too. He’s a resident there.” 

“No, thank you. I already ate a full basket of bread. I don’t want to ruin my dinner,” Alfred replies.

Feliciano nods again and leaves Alfred alone once more. 

When the bubbly waiter is gone, Alfred checks his phone again. It’s half-past six; the restaurant closes at eight, but the reservation ends at seven. With each passing second, Alfred feels his heart sink further and further. A lump forms in the back of his throat. As the clock turns to seven, Alfred slowly rises from his seat and rests a large tip and enough for a meal for two on the table. 

He walks to the door but is stopped by a light tap on his shoulder. 

It’s Felciano and another man that Alfred assumes is Feliciano’s twin brother. 

“Don’t leave without some food,” Feliciano exclaims with a broad smile. 

Feliciano’s brother shoves two large paper bags into his chest. 

Alfred forces a smile, “Thank you. Really.” 

He’s lost his appetite, but he doesn’t want to be rude so he accepts the meal. Alfred just wants to go home. 

Upon exiting the restaurant, Alfred notices a few snowflakes spinning through the air. The weather forecast was wrong like he’d predicted. The snowstorm had arrived. 

Alfred was cautious during the drive home, but the same can’t be said once he’s out of the car. He’s halfway up the driveway when his feet go in two different directions. He manages to catch himself, but not before his right foot twists and his ankle bends in a very wrong way.

Still, the pain is not immediate, and Alfred can get a shower and slip into a warm pair of pajamas before he notices something is amiss. The discomfort in his ankle makes a bad day worse, and he hobbles into the master bedroom with an intense frown. On the bed, he finds French Fry and Mila curled up together. He joins them and pulls out his laptop to drown his sorrow and frustration in work. 

This method is successful for a moment, but halfway through grading his students’ math projects his thoughts begin to wander. And, before Alfred knows it, a stray tear trails down his cheek followed by another and another. 

Alfred sets his laptop aside as he sobs, wondering if it’s over with him and Ivan. In the beginning, they were fine, but once Ivan’s work picked up, Alfred started losing him. Ivan seemed to care about his work more than Alfred. They were hardly ever home together anymore, and when they were, Ivan just wanted to sleep. 

_ Was he being selfish? _ Ivan is working to save lives and here he’s sitting there crying over a missed date. 

Alfred is pulled from his spiraling thoughts by something brushing against his hand. He glances down to see a pair of wide blue eyes staring up at him. 

Alfred ruffles the cat’s fur between his ears. “Thank you, French Fry.”

“Mew.” 

Alfred has to laugh at the high-pitched squeak that came from Mila, who is watching him, too. The brown tabby’s bobtail does a little wiggle before she climbs onto Alfred’s lap. French Fry follows her lead, kneading the duvet beside Alfred and snuggling up against him. 

Alfred chuckles, “I can’t be upset with you guys around.” 

***

It’s exactly nineteen-hundred when Ivan finally clocks out of the emergency room. Somehow he finds the strength to make a quick exit before anyone else approaches him with another problem or scrap of paperwork. Ivan is visibly startled when he exits the hospital to find a fresh layer of snow covering the ground. He’d forgotten it was supposed to snow. 

He welcomes the winter weather. It reminds him of his childhood home in St. Petersburg. Ivan reaches out to catch a few of the snowflakes on his palm. He admires the tiny crystals until they melt. 

With the snowflakes now a tiny puddle in his hand, Ivan dries his hand on his trenchcoat and climbs into the driver’s seat of his old car. The car released an angry squeak at the cold as Ivan waited for the engine to heat up before he drove home. As he waits, there’s a nagging feeling in his gut that he’s forgetting something. His ash-blonde brows furrow as he tries to think of what it could be.

When Ivan steps out of his car into the snow on his driveway, his phone chimes to signal a text message. He pulled his mobile phone from the pocket of his trenchcoat. 

Ivan’s heart sinks. The screen that his phone opens to displays Alfred’s unanswered message from that morning. How could he forget their date? Ivan could only imagine what Alfred thought. 

He racks his brain for something, anything, he can do to make up for it. His first thought is to go to the plant nursery located on Main Street. Ivan climbs back into his old car and drives back into town to the plant nursery. 

Ivan adjusts his worn, cream-colored scarf around his neck before exiting his car. He trudges through the snow, still in his work sneakers. He reaches for the door when it opens toward him. Ivan takes a quick step back. 

Someone’s face peeks out. They are a little older than Ivan, with long dark hair and golden-brown eyes. The name Yao is embroidered on the chest of their apron 

Yao looks Ivan up and down before announcing, “We’re closed.”

Ivan points at the paper sign taped to the door. “It says you close at eight.”

“No. We’re closed now,” Yao shakes their head at him.

Yao starts to close the door, but Ivan stops it with his foot. He scowls up at Ivan with a glare that could kill. 

“Please, I just need some flowers for my fiancé,” Ivan reasons. 

Yao shakes their head again. “I’m sorry. I can’t—” 

Yao is cut off by a string of what sounds like angry Mandarin. They look away from Ivan at someone he can’t see. Yao answers back, seeming quite angry with whomever they’re talking to.

If Ivan’s situation were different, he would’ve backed away and left. But, he felt desperate to prove to Alfred that he still cares. So he waits for Yao and the mystery person’s conversation to finish, fiddling with his scarf to make himself feel less awkward.

Ivan doesn’t miss Yao gesturing at him with a frustrated expression on their face. He straightens his posture and stops fiddling with his scarf as the mystery person finally reveals themself. 

Ivan blinks and his jaw almost drops. Even in his exhausted state, Ivan recognizes the man from earlier that afternoon. 

The older gentleman squints at him through his thick glasses before smiling at him. He slowly lifts a bony hand to wave at Ivan. 

“Hello, again, young man,” Zhang Wei says.

Ivan waves back at Zhang Wei, smiling too. 

Yao arches a brow at Zhang Wei, “You know him?”

Zhang Wei nods, “He helped me at the hospital.”

“Let me guess, you want me to let him in,” Yao deadpans. 

Zhang Wei nods again and says what Ivan assumes is yes in Mandarin. 

Yao closes their eyes and pinches the bridge of their nose, then they begrudgingly open the door for Ivan to enter the nursery. 

Once inside the nursery, he’s in awe of the sheer size of the place. It looks much bigger inside than it did outside. Plants of all varieties and colors surround them; hanging from the ceiling, lining tables and shelves, and occupying decorative pots on the floor. 

The sunflowers, in particular, catch his eye first. He briefly admires their bright yellow petals that look so warm and inviting. A gentle tug on his trenchcoat pulls Ivan from his musings. Zhang Wei stares up at him through his glasses. 

“He wants to know what you did and what your fiancé’s favorite flowers are,” Yao explains, leaning against a nearby table. They couldn’t sound more disinterested. 

“I… I missed our date tonight. I was busy at work, and I just forgot,” Ivan responds, feeling ashamed. “And blue roses are his favorite.”

Yao translates Ivan’s words to Zhang Wei to ensure that nothing is lost in translation. When Yao is finished, Zhang Wei nods sagely and leaves them for another aisle. Zhang Wei moves from flower bunch to flower bunch, removing a handful now and then. 

Ivan and Yao follow along behind him until Zhang Wei has a beautiful, vibrant bouquet clasped between his hands. 

Zhang Wei leads Yao and Ivan to register where he selects a vase to place the flowers into. As Zhang Wei delicately arranges the flowers, he explains each one to Ivan. Lilies represent humility and devotion, tulips stand for forgiveness, and roses express passion and true love. 

Ivan expects a hefty price for the flowers and a mark up for coming after closing time, but Zhang Wei simply hands the vase to him. Ivan’s jaw drops. He can’t be serious.

“Go and tell him how you feel.”

***

Back at home, the small, two-story house is silent except for the sound of the radiator hissing in the background. Ivan removes his trenchcoat and hangs it on the hook by the door along with his scarf. Then, Ivan climbs the stairs to the master bedroom. 

He sees French Fry first. The chubby flame-point is more than eager to greet him. French Fry releases a chirp and jumps off of the bed with a loud  _ thump _ . He happily circles Ivan’s feet and between the man’s legs. 

Ivan gives French Fry a pat on the head and a scratch between the ears before crossing the room. He finds Alfred asleep on the bed with his glasses still on his face, his laptop open, and Mila curled into a tight ball on his abdomen. Ivan gently closes the laptop and sits it on the nightstand. He uses the same amount of caution to remove Alfred’s glasses. 

The tear stains on Alfred’s cheeks don’t go unnoticed, serving as a reminder to Ivan that he needs to do better. Ivan reaches out to wipe the lingering tears away. 

Alfred stirs at his touch. “Mmm… Ivan?” 

“Hello,  _ podsolnukh,”  _ Ivan smiles down at his fiancé, who’s blinking blearily up at him. 

“What time is it?” Alfred mutters, reaching for his glasses. 

“Half-past seven-thirty.” 

Alfred sits up against the pillows and Mila launches herself off of him. 

“Alfred…” Ivan feels at a loss for words. He’s unsure of how to apologize. 

He extends the floral bouquet to Alfred. 

Alfred is shocked at first. He accepts the large arrangement of flowers after a moment, fingering the petals of a few of the roses. A small smile pulls at Alfred’s lips, though it swiftly falls away.

Ivan confesses, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I missed our date. I got caught up at work. I didn’t—” 

Alfred cuts Ivan off, “I understand that your work means a lot to you and that you’re busy saving people. But, and I don’t’ mean to sound selfish, I also need you to be here with me.”

Tears begin to well up in the corners of Alfred’s bright blue eyes. He lifts his glasses and uses the back of his pajama sleeve to wipe them away. 

“I miss you, Ivan. You’re never home anymore,” Alfred continues with a sniffle, no longer meeting Ivan’s eyes. He sits the bouquet down on the bed beside him. Once the flowers are out of his hands, he begins to spins the engagement ring around his index finger.

Ivan sighs. He wants to wipe the tears away, but he doesn’t quite feel like it’s appropriate. He takes a seat on the side of the bed instead so that he’s not looming over Alfred. 

“I…” Alfred pauses and bites his bottom lip. He’s unsure of whether he should say it, but it’s been on his chest for a while now and this evening made the feeling even more pronounced. He continues to spin the ring around his finger as he prepares himself for what he’s about to say. 

“Ivan, I’ve been thinking, and I don’t know if we’re ready for this. For marriage. You need to focus on your work, and I don’t know if this is right for us,” Alfred confesses, still fiddling with his ring. His eyes can’t seem to focus on any one thing, but he can’t look Ivan in the eyes right now. 

Ivan can’t say that he is completely blindsided by Alfred’s words. He knew that Alfred was having doubts about their relationship. That was the reason they had planned this date in the first place; they wanted to stoke their feelings for each other, to return to those feelings of intimacy and passion that they had in the beginning. 

Ivan takes a deep breath and places a hand over Alfred’s. “I know that this has been hard for you, and I apologize. My hours will be cut back once my residency at the hospital is over.” 

“You’ve been saying that for almost three years, Ivan. It’s getting harder and harder to believe you.” Alfred balls his hands beneath Ivan’s. 

“I promise you. In six months, this’ll be over. I’ll have more control over my work shifts and maybe even have a position at a private practice,” Ivan reassures, silently willing Alfred to look at him. 

Alfred huffs, turning his eyes back to Ivan. “I’m going to hold you to that.” 

“You have my word,” Ivan answers and dips his head. 

“Pinkie promise?” Alfred teases, holding out his hand to Ivan with his pinkie extended. 

“ _Da._ ” Ivan can’t hold back a smile at Aflred’s youthful ways. He follows his fiancé’s lead, curling his pinkie finger around Alfred’s. 

“Good,” Alfred nods before unlocking their pinkies. 

A brief moment of silence falls between them, but Alfred is never quiet for long. With attention back on the bouquet, he picks the flowers up and gives them a quick sniff. Alfred smiles at the sweet, earthy scent. 

“Thank you for the flowers,” Alfred says, thoughtful, “They’re lovely.”

“I’m glad that you like them,” Ivan grins, seizing the moment to give Alfred a quick peck on the cheek.

But the kiss leaves Alfred wanting more after so long without much intimacy. He makes a motion for Ivan to come closer.

Ivan leans forward so that they’re only a few inches apart. 

Alfred taps his lips and Ivan pecks Alfred on the side of his face again, a cheeky smile on his face. A pout forms on Alfred’s lips, clearly wanting more. Ivan moves in closer and cups Alfred’s cheek in his hand. They lock lips and Alfred leans into the kiss with pleasure. The feeling of Ivan’s lips against his is soft and moist. He can feel the cold of Ivan’s skin on his, causing a shiver to run down his spine and spread across his skin. It’s a sensation that lingers even after they separate. 

As they both pull away, Alfred smirks, “Much better.” 


End file.
